Even The Smallest
by megSUPERFAN
Summary: For hobbit-lovers everywhere! A collection of drabbles, one-shots, and various moments concerning hobbits.
1. Edge of Night

Merry lay still for a few minutes, wondering about Pippin. His friend had always been curious, but sometimes Pippin just didn't understand when to leave things alone. He was so fascinated by that glass ball, wouldn't let the thought of it out of his mind. Merry was glad he'd let the matter go at least until the morning. At least now they could get some rest before Gandalf urged them on further into Rohan...

... Merry lay dreaming, though of what exactly it was hard to tell. There were mountains shadowing the distance, there were lifeless plains, there were swampy marshes. Merry jumped when a voice right next to him whispered. "The hobbitses, they've got the Precious, they've got it, and there's two of them, precious. What must we do?"

Merry had heard that voice often enough in tales, or imitations of it, but none were ever this frightening and real. He couldn't see the creature, but he knew who it was. Gollum. He shivered. Then his mind began to put the bits of Gollum's speech together. Two hobbits...

Sam and Frodo.

An awful cry shattered the dream. Merry woke with a jolt, his nighttime thoughts forgotten, his eyes flitting immediately to the bed next to his. Empty.

 _No. Pippin, what have you done?_


	2. Choosing

**An little thing my animal-loving mind came up with, inspired by a visit to a litter of golden retriever puppies, one of which was named Samwise. :)**

The squirming puppies tumbled over one another, oblivious to this new stranger. Maggot looked at each pup closely. He wanted three good guard dogs. Trespassers wouldn't dare come onto his land after this, especially those Buckland rascals.

There were four males in this particular litter, and two females. Maggot's gaze swept over the friendly lasses with their tongues hanging out to the males play fighting in the corner. They snapped at each other, pounced, barked, growled. All four would make fine watchdogs. Pity he couldn't take more than three. His wife had made that clear before he'd left: "Three's quite enough, Maggot; don't you dare bring home more!"

His eyes focused again on the dogs. Two were pinned under by the others, but they battled to get up. One let out a vicious growl, and the other pinning him down let him go with a small yelp of surprise. The snarling one went after his brother again.

The other two had begun to fight harder. The bigger of them was underneath, but he was not permitted to get up. The smaller pup help him down with a bit of a struggle, but he succeeded.

As Maggot stood smiling at their actions, a voice broke in. "Have you decided which ones you want yet, Mr. Maggot?" Maggot shook his head. It was hard to choose. The snarling one for sure. A fighter like that would be handy on the farm.

"That one." He pointed.

"Any others?"

Maggot looked at the small, strong pup that still with difficulty held the large one down. "I'll take that one as well."

"Both of 'em?" Maggot hesitated for a second. A fierce dog, a strong dog, and a large one. They were perfect.

"Yes."

Minutes later, Farmer Maggot sat driving his wagon back to Bamfurlong. He looked back at the three puppies sitting in the wagon bed. They had to be named. He thought for a moment.

The one who bared his teeth and growled was Fang.

The pouncer would be Grip.

And the last, the largest... Maggot thought harder. A dog that size would need a fitting name. The puppy let out a sudden loud howl. Maggot smiled. "Wolf," he muttered.

Grip, Fang, Wolf. He was satisfied with them. Maggot couldn't help thinking, though, what a pity it was that he couldn't have gotten more than three.

 **The end. Did you enjoy it?**


	3. Silence (WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH)

**A/N: I know I'm writing about the two hobbits like they're young in this story, but they're not. I can't bring myself to call them old, but they are. Just so you know.**

 **Another Merry and Pip one, I know. The others will get their turn soon enough.**

Listening to Merry's steady breathing, Pippin sighed. Merry always managed to fall asleep first. Every single night, for years. Pippin usually preferred staying up and talking. This night, however, Merry had fallen asleep too quickly, in his opinion, for any sort of conversation. The two hobbits had had a bountiful supper. In Minas Tirith every meal was fantastic.

Pippin tossed and turned in bed. Thinking of food made it even harder to sleep. He forced himself to lie still, listening enviously to his snoring friend.

. . . . .

 _No,_ Merry thought. _I can't. Not yet. Not without saying goodbye to Pippin._

. . . . .

Pippin woke in the middle of the night. Why, he wondered, as he blinked the remainders of dreams from his eyes. It was awfully quiet. Merry was silent.

As his eyes got used to the dark, he saw that his friend still lay in bed. Something was wrong. Pippin felt it, dread.

Unknowingly he held his breath. Only his own heartbeat thudded through the dead silence. _Only his own_.

Fear raced through the hobbit as he stood. "Merry?"

No answer. He trembled. "Merry!"

Pippin ran to his cousin's bedside and took his hand. Cold. "Please, Merry, no... Merry, please wake up!"

His best friend's voice came softly to Pippin's mind, from years and years ago: _"Help me, Pippin! It's all going dark again, and my arm is so cold..."_

 _"Come now, Merry lad! Lean on me. Foot by foot. It's not far."_

 _"Are you going to bury me?"_

Pippin wept. "Oh, Merry..."

 **I'm sorry this turned out so sad. Really I am.**

 **What did you think of it?**

 **(P.S. This was originally another story on this site, called "In The Night", but I added it to "Even the Smallest".)**


	4. Bywater, 1419 SR

**Slightly longer than a drabble- (128 words.)**

BATTLE OF BYWATER

Robin Smallburrow was terrified. He knew nothing of fighting! He had hoped the huge number of hobbits would be enough to dissuade the ruffians, but no. He was armed with a small club he didn't rightly know how to use, and when a large Man came right at him with a long knife, he lost his nerve.

He stumbled backwards, crying out, "Sam!" And Sam came. The ruffian was on the ground before he knew what was happening, with Sam's sword at his throat. Robin stared in sheer amazement.

"Drop your weapon!" Sam demanded. The Man let go with no protest, though he was easily the stronger of the two. "Mr. Frodo, another one!"

Meanwhile Robin stood there aghast. He really did know nothing of fighting.


	5. Faramir's Flock

**Another animal story! Not true, not even really logical, just a concoction by me. Enjoy :)**

 ** _Summary: Faramir's need for comfort in a difficult time brings him to his own place, his own secret, which introduces one hobbit to the gentlest side of this Captain of Gondor: master of man, master of beast, and master of bird._**

 _"Two had great bows, almost of their own height, and great quivers of long, green-feathered arrows." ~ The Two Towers, Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit_

 _"...one is still up, but he rides back to the others. That will be the Captain: he can master both beasts and men." ~Beregond, The Return of the King, The Siege of Gondor_

 _. . ._

Faramir had a secret known only to himself. It lay in a hidden vale of Ithilien undiscovered and untouched by the Enemy, at least for a long while. It was near to his men's hiding place, yet they knew nothing of it. Faramir only came there once in a while, when he needed time alone. Such a time was now.

The appearance and business of the two hobbits had occupied his mind for so long. He needed to get away, to stop _thinking_ so much. He headed softly down the thin trail he had forged himself to the vale.

Unknown to him, a hobbit followed silently behind. Frodo couldn't sleep, as tired as he was. He had glanced at Sam, who would surely panic if his master wasn't there, but he was sleeping soundly. Frodo made up his mind. He wouldn't be away very long.

Faramir stepped into the secret vale. But for a few shrubs it was empty. He stopped, taking in the clean, fresh nighttime air.

From his hiding place a few yards away and behind, Frodo heard a soft bird call. His eyes widened. It was Faramir, yet the sound he made was incredibly real. An answer came, almost brightened by the moonlight, the same call in return. Another, and another.

A flutter of wings came towards Faramir and landed, some on his now outstretched arm, the rest at his feet. Faramir smiled, stroking the beautiful birds one by one, as each let out its quiet and serene call.

Frodo stifled an unintentional yawn, but Faramir did not turn around. The hobbit rose from his place and, smiling to himself, went without a sound back to his bed. Sam never knew he had been gone.

But Faramir lingered for a while, comforted by the birds he had befriended. The looming decisions, the past and coming battles, the loss of his brother, all were temporarily forgotten as he touched their soft feathers, listened to their murmuring speech, gazed on their grace in flight or perching. He loved them, for they relieved him for a little while of his pain.

At last he straightened up. The moon had grown dim, misted over by dark shadows of clouds. His flock, by silent agreement, spread their wings and flew away, to nests perhaps far beyond the Enemy's grasp. Faramir watched them go, then sighed, not of weariness; rather of content.

He picked up one green feather from the ground at his feet and softly smiled.

. . .

 **Don't hesitate to review! :)**


	6. Why Did You Look?

**A/N: This story was published as a different story, called "Goodbye". It was added to here because it wasn't being very successful on its own.**

 **P.S. Some material may overlap with Chapter 1.**

"WHY DID YOU LOOK?"

Merry walked ahead of Pippin down the road. The emotions he felt were altogether new to him, and he struggled silently with them as he walked.

Pippin's innocent voice broke into his thoughts. "Where are we going?"

Suddenly, Merry turned, anger and frustration in his words as he spoke. "Why did you look? Why do you always have to look?"

Pippin looked a little taken aback by his friend's sudden change of tone. "I don't know," he said. "I can't help it."

"You never can." Merry turned to keep going. But Pippin caught up to him.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Merry said nothing. Trying to keep things light, the way they used to be, Pippin tried again. "I won't do it again."

This was too much for Merry to take. "Don't you understand?" he burst out. "The Enemy thinks you have the Ring. He's going to be looking for you, Pip. They have to get you out of here."

Pippin looked as if Merry was speaking a foreign language. He couldn't imagine such danger. He'd never had to before. All he could think to say was, "And you- you're coming with me?"

All Merry's anger drained out of him. How could he tell Pippin "no"? Tears burned his eyes as he looked down at the ground.

"Merry?"

Merry couldn't meet his friend's eyes. "Come on," he said. But as he walked again down the road, one thought remained in his mind: "How can I ever say goodbye to him?"

Behind him Pippin stood, thinking something quite different. "What have I done?"


	7. Drabbles

**Two drabbles (100 words each!)**

FARAMIR MEETS PIPPIN

It had been a hard fight. He was troubled, weary. He leaned on the arm of Mithrandir as they made their way to the Citadel, half-listening to the shouts around him, cheers of his people calling his name and the wizard's.

"Faramir!"

"Mithrandir!"

"Faramir! Faramir!"

He stopped, stunned, for a strange voice had reached his ear, familiar yet not so. It wasn't possible. His eyes searched for the source: a small person clad in the black and silver livery of the Guard. A halfling? Here? Wonder filled Faramir, and questions, but he could only think these words:

"Whence come you?"

.

FARAMIR MEETS MERRY

They had sent for the halfling, and at last he had come, bowing before Faramir politely. The man gestured for Meriadoc to sit next to him. Apparently, he had been grievously hurt, but it didn't show at all, not that Faramir could see.

"Tell me," said Faramir gently. "What do you know of the White Lady of Rohan?" The halfling thought for a moment.

"It was as if she sought death," he said finally. "She fought bravely, but she only wanted just that- to fight. Like me."

"Like you?" Faramir caught the hobbit's eye, and he smiled.

"I wouldn't be left behind again."


	8. Sable Took

**A/N: The story behind this story is that I have a friend named Sable, and she wanted a story with a "Sable" in it. The phrase that came to mind is "the silver and sable of the Tower of Guard". So guess who Sable belongs to. :) Enjoy!**

SABLE TOOK

The Thain shook his head, watching with a smile his two children play outdoors. Diamond was inside resting, as their third would be arriving in a month or so. Peregrin grinned to himself. Another one. He couldn't wait.

Giggles drew his thoughts back to Faramir and Sable playing Tig on the grass. Six-year-old Faramir humored his little sister, running a bit slower so she could occasionally catch him.

Little Sable, however, had no mercy. She was only four, but had a fiery determination. When Faramir protested against a newly made-up rule, she planted her feet stubbornly. "I say so, Fah-meer." Pippin chuckled. Sable had so much advantage over her brother. Faramir had gotten the Thain side of Peregrin, not all that much, but all that there was had gone into Faramir. His name fit him perfectly. Maybe that came from Diamond's side.

Sable, on the other hand, was a Took through and through. She had inherited the Pippin side: curiosity, mischief, everything. His wife complained good-naturedly, just as Pippin's mother had done, but of course Pippin didn't mind. It was somewhat refreshing to see himself mirrored in his daughter. He wondered suddenly who the third child would take after.

Both of the little hobbits stopped their game by mutual agreement. They tugged his arm. "When's dinner?"

Pippin laughed. "Hungry already? Let's see what we can find in the kitchen." He picked up Sable when she held out her arms, and followed his son inside.


	9. Fatty No Longer

_"One of the first that they found was poor Fredegar Bolger, Fatty no longer." ~_ _The Return of the King_ _, The Grey Havens_

 _._

Merry went down another tunnel, his heart sinking. There were so many prisoners in here. He, Pippin, Frodo, and some others had split up in order to reach every cell as soon as possible. Merry's fists clenched. The men had done too much damage to the hobbits' country, and to its people. How much would it take to set things right, the way they should be?

He stopped in front of a seemingly vacant cell. If no one was there, why was it locked? He was about to pass it by when there came a soft moan from a darkened corner of the cramped room. Hurriedly, Merry unlocked the barred door and went slowly inside.

His heart seemed to drop within him as he saw the thin figure lying on the bare dirt floor, scarcely moving, back towards him. The imprisoned hobbit shuddered, but made no sound as Merry entered. Merry knelt down next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder, which was colored with still-healing bruises. The other hobbit tried to move, and Merry saw his face. He gasped.

"Fatty!" He almost didn't recognize his friend at first. Fatty opened his eyes and strove to speak.

"Merry, is that you?" His voice was a cracked whisper. Merry felt tears in his eyes.

"It's me," he said. "We're back now. The Shire is free again."

"All of you? Frodo, and Pippin, and..."

Merry smiled. "All of us." Fatty tried to sit up, but he couldn't. He slumped against the wall. Merry bit his lip. "What have they done to you?"

Fatty didn't answer. Merry called out for help. "Frodo!" He couldn't keep the fear from his voice. Frodo came quickly. He stopped for a stunned moment in the doorway, then rushed in, kneeling beside Merry.

"No," he said, his voice trembling. "Fatty, no."

"Frodo, he can't even move."

Frodo's words were quiet. "I think they've beaten him. And... they haven't fed him much." Torture for a hobbit.

Merry and Frodo together lifted their friend and carried him outside. Pippin found them not long after. Pity flashed across his face.

"You would have done better to come with us after all, poor old Fredegar!"

Fatty smiled.

.

 **Disclaimer: Pippin's line is from the book.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it; feel free to review!**


	10. Cold

**Summary of this: Poor Frodo. :(**

 **Read on!**

Frodo tried to keep from shivering. It was getting very late, but he found sleeping impossible. His arm was useless, unable to feel anything but the chill and the pain slowly creeping from the wound in his shoulder. It had rained the day before, and as he lay, Frodo felt the damp seep into his cold hurt, into him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to ignore the rustles and bumps, the night-noises that were familiar by now, but still sent fear through him. When he was scared, the pain grew, as if feeding off his fear.

And he was always afraid now.

With his good hand he felt for the Ring. It was round his neck, as always, yet his mind urged him to put it on. The wound ached more sharply, and Frodo drew his hand away with a shudder. No. He couldn't. He tucked his cloak and blanket closer around him.

A shrill wind curled over his head, a foretaste of winter. Frodo shivered. With each new cold breath, he grew weaker. How long would it be until he died?

Unwillingly, his thoughts went back to the torches on Weathertop, the flickering ghosts of the Black Riders, his own little sword so weak, and the blade of Mordor too strong. His wound flared with a poisoned chill. He couldn't stop trembling. It was too risky to light a fire, he knew, but the idea of warmth seemed so far away. Shadows flickered on the edge of sight. He was weary, and cold, and worn with pain.

How long until morning came?


	11. Nellie's Little Brother

**Nellie is Pimpernel Took, Pippin's older sister.**

Nellie fussed around her room aimlessly, just needing something to do. She sighed, glancing out the round window at the road wandering off through the trees. Her brother had taken that road months ago, and things just weren't the same since he'd gone.

Out of all her siblings, Pippin was the one she'd been closest to. Surprising, maybe, since she had two sisters. But Pervinca took after Pearl, and Nellie didn't really fit with them. A brother suited her better than sisters. Nellie bit her lip. She missed him so much. He hadn't even reached his coming of age yet, and now... would he ever? She shook her head at the gloomy thoughts, forcing them away. Pippin was always able to see the bright side of everything. Why couldn't she?

Nellie's hand brushed along a shelf and stopped at a small folded piece of paper. Tears came into her eyes. She knew what it was. She picked it up and held it in her hand, but didn't open it. She'd found it the night he left. Pippin's last note to her.

She unfolded it. It had seemed innocent enough that day, but when Pippin hadn't come back, she'd read it over so many times. She hadn't shown it to anyone else, not even Pearl and Pervinca. It just seemed too personal. Too special.

 _Dear Nellie,_

 _Merry and I are going to be helping Frodo. I may be away a bit longer than usual,_

 _but I'll try to get back as soon as possible. Don't be too worried about me. I can't_

 _tell you any more just yet. I will come back, I promise._

 _Pippin_

She stared at the words, tears making them almost unreadable. He'd promised to come back, he'd told her not to worry too much, but it was almost a full year since he'd left.

What could have happened? To Frodo Baggins, Cousin Merry, and her only brother? Where had they gone, and when were they coming back?


	12. Hurt

**Another palantir one. :) Mostly book, but a little movie influence thrown in. Would probably originally have been "Goodbye" Part 2. (see chapter 6.)**

Merry sat down next to Pippin without speaking as Gandalf left them. There was silence, except for the faint voices of the rest talking softly not far away. Pippin stirred uncomfortably. Was Merry angry with him? He opened his mouth to speak, when Merry turned slowly.

"Are you all right?" There wasn't much Pippin could detect from his voice, but Merry sounded... betrayed. Pippin felt even worse. He wasn't hurt, but his cousin was.

"I'm fine," he said, though he didn't feel it. His body felt all weak, his mind was still crowded with horrible things, and he was- what? Not the same. He hadn't meant to do this to Merry, never. Pippin looked at the ground, trying as hard he could to mean the words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He trailed off, his eyes stinging.

To his astonishment, Merry threw his arms around his friend. "I know, Pippin. I've forgiven you." Pippin was relieved, yet still worried. If it wasn't that, then what was wrong with Merry? His cousin's voice trembled as he let go. He took a breath. "I've... I think I know what's going to happen."

"What?"

Mery looked away and swallowed. "Gandalf's leaving again."

Pippin was silent a moment. "And?" He knew there was more to Merry's trouble than that.

"And..." Merry shook his head. The next words were quiet. "And he's going to take you with him."

"But why?" Pippin was stunned. "How do you know?"

"You're in danger, Pippin. You're recovering quite well, but you haven't forgotten."

Pippin shivered. He hadn't. "No."

"And more than that..." Merry hesitated. " _He'll_ be watching now for you. If you stay here-"

"I could put us all in danger." Pippin understood finally, though he didn't want it in the least. Merry nodded, biting his lip. Pippin took his friend's hand. "If I go, we'll be separated. We've never-"

"It'll be alright." Merry didn't sound as if he believed it. "I'll stay with Strider and the king, and Gandalf will look after you."

Pippin looked at Merry and their eyes met. "What if we never see each other again?" Pippin saw in Merry's eyes tears, trying to come up with something to console his younger cousin, and finding nothing. They didn't speak for a long while.

At last, Pippin broke the silence with a whisper. "Gandalf's coming. Is it time to go?" Merry nodded, hugging Pippin one last time. Pippin wrapped his arms around his best friend. "Goodbye, Merry."

Merry pulled back softly. "Pippin." Pippin understood. There was still so much he wanted to say, but there was no time.

Gandalf stood watching the two hobbits, Pippin lying down, Merry kneeling beside him, and sighed. It was best they left immediately. He approached them and picked up the trembling Peregrin. "You shall come with me tonight," he said. "Shadowfax shall show you his paces." Pippin nodded. Merry squeezed his hand again and let go.

Gandalf mounted. Aragorn laid his hand on Merry's shoulder. Pippin looked back. Merry grew farther and farther behind as Shadowfax ran.


	13. Patience

Rosie sighed, picking at a flower that grew to her left. She sat on the bottom step of her home. The worn path under her feet hadn't been weeded in a while. It was the middle of the afternoon. Ruffians were everywhere these days, but none had come down the Cotton's lane yet today. They were busy down by Hobbiton, she figured.

Rosie was only there to pass the afternoon without her mother asking for help on the spring cleaning. She leaned back against the round door. The gate near the road creaked slowly in an almost unfelt breeze.

It felt good to just let the minutes go by. The days were miserable now. Her father went about his work with an axe in his belt; her brothers were sharpening knives. They wanted the Shire stirred up against the ruffians, she knew, but they wouldn't be the ones to start it. They didn't dare. They didn't know how. No one did. Things had changed.

Smoke rose in the air from Bywater's direction. Rosie shuddered. The Hobbits lived in fear. Nobody knew quite how it had started. It had begun almost as soon as Sam had left. And now their homeland was being ruined. Rosie looked up. At least the Sun was still shining. "Keep hoping", her mother had told her once, a long time ago, and Rosie had never forgotten it. Hope seemed to be all she had left. Hope and daydreams.

She pulled the flower from the grass and picked absentmindedly at the petals. A little phrase came into her head that the younger lasses used to sing. "He loves me, he loves me not." She smiled, thinking of Sam; then the smile faded. Sam had been gone for months now. She'd waited so long.

Rosie knew he'd come back, but when?

And what kind of home would he come back to?

Rosie twirled the flower in her hand. A petal fell off and floated to the ground. She let the rest of the flower drop.

 _He loves me._

She stood and went back inside. The smoke still lingered in the air farther off. The gate still creaked. The Sun still shone.

Keep hoping. She could wait a bit longer. Sam would come.


	14. Sacrifice

**The Gates of Mordor**

Beregond faced East, ready for the enemy's charge. Beside him Peregrin stood, grim-faced, not afraid. Beregond wondered at the change in the hobbit. He had seemed too small for war, but by now the man knew better.

Horns sounded. The enemy came, and the defense raised their weapons. Trolls roared, charging with their great hammers. Gondor and her allies stood fast, but the monsters forced their way through. Men were falling all around him, and soon Beregond himself felt their onslaught.

Something slammed into his head suddenly. His sight went dark. The guttural rage of a mighty troll echoed in his mind. He opened his eyes, fighting the pain, too disoriented to rise. This was his end.

Through blurred vision, he saw the troll stooping over him. And then-

Peregrin. He fought like a true soldier, driving his sword into the troll, a creature nearly three times his size. Black blood stained his sword. The troll fell. Beregond just managed to crawl away from its path. He lay for a moment, just breathing. He staggered to his feet in amazement, then fear.

Where was the hobbit? His gaze fell on the dead troll, and he understood.

The next wave swept Beregond away from his friend. He fought now with renewed vigour, keeping foremost in his mind the last victory of Peregrin. A hopeless battle, perhaps, yet the halfling's sacrifice would not be in vain. Beregond would make it so.


	15. Drowning

She struggled to move through the water, but panic raced through her mind. Her head went under. She needed air.

This had been a horrible idea- a boat on the Brandywine, when neither of the passengers could swim.

Her head broke the surface for a split second. "Drogo!" she screamed, then choked as she breathed in water. The chilly current dragged at her dress. She kept screaming. Drogo was nowhere to be seen.

The river pulled her under.

. . .

People were running outside, everyone everywhere. Confusion. Panic. The few that could swim were in the water, searching.

The upside down boat was pulled from the river, empty.

Esmeralda Brandybuck tried to keep calm. No. Please, no.

A small child pressed into her dress. She looked down. "Oh, Frodo..." The lad seemed at a loss for words. He was trembling, his blue eyes wide in fear. Esmeralda put her arm around him, hugging him close. "Don't worry," she whispered, trying to keep tears from her voice. "Everything will be all right." She couldn't do much to console Frodo when she could barely keep back her own terror and dread.

Esmeralda's hand flew to her mouth with a horrified gasp as the bodies of Drogo and Primula Baggins were laid on the bank.

Too late she remembered Frodo. He had seen.

"Come, Frodo," she managed to get out, running her hand through his dark curls. "Shall we go inside?"

He pulled away. His face was pale, his eyes welling with tears. The hobbits by the riverside shouted for help, but Frodo knew.

He fled. Esmeralda let him go, knowing he hated letting others see him cry.

Saradoc came behind her, putting his arm around her, letting her own tears fall on his shoulder.

. . .

"Frodo? Frodo, sweetheart, are you here?" He didn't answer his aunt. She'd find him. She knew where he had gone, this tree perfect for being alone.

He'd often been off by himself, but never had he felt this _alone_.

He didn't look up, though he knew she knew he'd been crying. "Frodo, darling." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready to go back now?"

"No." His voice shook. "No. I can't."

"You can't stay out here forever," she said gently.

Frodo wanted to.

His aunt waited a few minutes before speaking again, her own voice soft and sad. "I'm so sorry, Frodo."

"I knew they were dead. As soon as- as-" He blinked, shivered. He didn't mean for more tears to come, but they did.

"Hush, child," she murmured in comfort. "You still have family who love you." He did, but not the ones that mattered most.

"What will happen?"

She was quiet. "You may live at Brandy Hall if you'd like. With us. We'd take you in, gladly."

Frodo looked at her, and she was struck by the pain-filled blue of his eyes. "With you?"

"Yes." Frodo considered it, not venturing anything else.

Esmeralda held out her hand. "Come, lad. Ready now?"

He didn't get up. "Did they take care of Mama and Papa?" She nodded, pity in her eyes. Frodo stood.

As the two walked back home, Frodo didn't say a word, keeping his grief inside. Esmeralda turned to the young lad. "Do you want supper? It's been hours."

No. What he wanted had been lost today. "I'm not hungry."

Frodo wouldn't go near the river for weeks.


	16. Feast Fit for a Hobbit

**A drabble.**

"It seems a long while since we could eat to heart's content." ~ Pippin, Flotsam and Jetsam, _The Two Towers_

. . .

Merry eats like he's starving. I'd laugh, only I am doing the same.

It seems forever and a day since we've been able to dine like this- for hobbits, I think that deserves some commemoration. Treebeard's drink is refreshing enough, I suppose, but we have been longing to sink our teeth into something more food-like than that, and more edible than Orc-bread. I didn't touch their meat, and neither did Merry. We were too afraid of where it had come from.

But now! Saruman's army won't be needing this anymore; it belongs to the hobbits.

And after lunch comes the pipeweed!


	17. Small

**Pippin's thoughts on the people of Minas Tirith.**

To some here, I am seen as little more than a child. What would they say if I told them I am tall for my age? I told Bergil, and he laughed, for he is less than half my years and already I must look up to speak to him.

People who don't see beyond my height whisper behind me that I am strange, that they've never seen anything like me before. I've gotten used to this, I suppose.

Bergil and Beregond are wonderful to me; Merry always said I was quick to make friends. I didn't tell him it was because I can't stand being lonely.

I feel awful leaving Merry.

Gandalf is kind, but busy. I don't see him much- he has larger matters to attend to, and he doesn't speak of them to a halfling.

When I am not waiting for hours at the Steward's side, I go often to Shadowfax, for the people whisper of him as much they do of me, only for different reasons. The horse is beautiful, while I am only unusual.

Yet there are others in the City that observe me in a different manner. They seem to think me of a sort of nobility, giving me ridiculous titles that I've never had before and certainly don't deserve. I don't mind it too much, but honor is a thing quite new to me.

If they knew what brought me to their City, would they salute me as they do? If they knew I am a curious young hobbit, not even of age yet, who jests with his cousins, teases Sam, and is practically useless to anyone?

I shiver sometimes, looking over the wall with Beregond. I do not tell him of the Ring, but this close to Mordor, my thoughts are on Frodo. Is he alive? Is he alright? Is Sam?

I know now the Dark Lord's voice, have felt a glimpse of his Eye on me. Is this the burden Frodo carries? How does he find the strength every day to go on, straight into the heart of the Enemy's shadow?

I know in my heart I don't belong here. What good will my pledged service ever do, save to honor the memory of Boromir?

For a war this size, I am much too small.


	18. Mo(u)rning

**Somewhat of a stretch to put this among my hobbit drabbles, but oh well. I do mention Merry a little.**

 **Theoden's dying thoughts.**

 **.**

I have fulfilled my oath to Gondor. I have struck down the banner of the enemy.

The sun shines, as well it should. Golden light, and strengthening voices tell me I have earned a place in the halls of my fathers.

Meriadoc is by my side now, weeping as he begs forgiveness for disobeying my command. I grant it, of course, though it is an unnecessary plea. If anything, I should be the one asking for _his_ forgiveness.

It is a small thing, perhaps, but my heart aches to think that I shall not feast again with this small, brave warrior, and never know the other, his cousin.

The day is bright, and the light brings to mind my heart's daughter. Eowyn. I long to see her face once more, but I know it shall not be.

Have I truly earned a better life? I have fulfilled my people's oath to Gondor, but so many of my promises are broken.

Eomer comes. He also weeps, even as I bestow the kingship of Rohan to him.

Sight dims, but the morning grows stronger.


	19. The Return

_"_ _I set out to save the Shire… and it has been saved, but not for me." - Frodo Baggins, The Grey Havens, The Return of the King_

 _. . ._

Pippin noticed the change in Frodo as they neared home.

Not only the old wound from Weathertop (which they'd all noticed but never discussed), but something more.

The Shire was not as they'd left it, and it wasn't fair. Not for any of them, but for Frodo, who had suffered and endured so much… Frodo deserved to come back to a Shire that was beautiful, green, and perfectly, refreshingly _home._

Not this.

. . .

Merry wondered at first why Frodo was so hesitant to fight the ruffians. It was uncomfortable, he supposed, and certainly it wasn't enjoyable, but it was necessary. Unavoidable.

He knew Frodo didn't want it, but it had to be done.

The first ruffian fell dead by the light of the fire. Frodo winced. Merry didn't think anyone else saw.

The look in Frodo's eyes then- no tears, no fear, no anger, just… _sadness_ \- remained in Merry's mind for the entire battle and afterwards.

And he saw now why Frodo had wanted the fighting to end.

Frodo needed peace more than anything.

. . .

It was Sam who'd followed his master to Mordor, had borne his pain, if only for a small while. It was Sam who had carried his master to the very end- or so he thought.

The story was not happily ended yet.

A villain lived in the Shire still.

Frodo insisted that they did not kill the murderer. Sam privately disagreed, but he knew Frodo better than perhaps anyone else, and he knew why Frodo acted as he did.

When the knife glittered for half a moment in the sun and drove home, Sam was on Saruman in seconds. Others followed, but Sam led. The Elven _mithril_ was momentarily forgotten.

And still Frodo commanded that they let the wizard go.

As he had with Gollum months before, Samwise marvelled at his master's pity.


	20. Innocent Plans

**Little Sam and Rosie plan their future. A Shire moment written for CarawynO. I'm sorry it isn't longer!**

 **. . .**

They lay on the grassy slope together, facing the west as the Sun tucked her last beams into herself and slipped beneath the covers of the night. Rosie sighed. "Today's been perfect, Sam."

Sam smiled and took her small hand in his own. He said nothing, his mind wandering back to the past few hours of fun, when the day's work had been completed and the Cotton lads had come to play, of course bringing their sister.

Stars began to prick the sky.

"You gonna marry me, Sam? When we get of age?"

"'Course I will," came the lad's affectionate answer. "It ain't too long to wait."

Years, yes, but the time would fly in the minds of the children.

"How long will we be courtin' before that?"

Sam thought for a minute. "A week, just to be proper, I think."

Rosie nodded and smiled, already imagining the future.

"How many young'uns?" She delighted in asking these questions and in Sam's answers.

"Lots of 'em. Maybe fifty."

"And a smial all our own. With big windows, all glass."

"And a garden."

"With flowers?"

"Full o' flowers. Promise."

The grown folk called the two dreamers inside then, for it was after dark. Sam brushed himself off before getting up and offering a hand to Rosie, who took it with a giggle.

Though the details changed a bit through the years, it was a conversation they pulled out often. Little by little it was made real, and they were happy.


End file.
